


The Champion's Love

by carmelitilla



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders is jealous, Dragon Age 2 - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Kissing, Love, Mage/Mage, Nicknames, Slightly slow burn, Wicked Grace, garrett hawke falls in love, isabella is jealous, playing with OC, varric and cassandra, varric is actively telling this story, warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmelitilla/pseuds/carmelitilla
Summary: I wrote this forever ago. As we trudge through COVID-19 I thought I'd post it for some light easy reading — until the end. Sorry.I never played as Garrett. So I always thought, how would I fit into the universe if I wasn't Hawke. This is the result of that.Rough edit repost of work found from literal years ago, if anyone cares about Dragon Age 2 anymore. Enjoy.
Relationships: Garrett Hawke/OC, Hawke/OC, OC/Garrett Hawke, OC/Hawke, OC/Male Hawke
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

“Bianca is the story I can never tell, Daisy.”

Meril looked down at her fingers, “But, you can’t do that, now I just want to know so much more!”

Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose, he was sick of wandering the coast, and while Varric and Meril were his friends, they had a tendency to talk of nothing for hours on end. He made a mental note to travel with them separately from there on.

“Hawke,” Fenris halted him. He drew the warrior’s attention forward with a nod.

Two Qunari were approaching from the river back. One beast, his chest barley grey save the specks where his red war paint did not cover, carried a white oak staff and a cloth that glinted like dragon scales over his shoulder.

“Qunari’s don’t need staves do they? Their legs are quite large enough for walking to put a poor branch under their weight,” said Meril. She blinked at it thinking of her somari, he would appreciate a staff like that.

Hawke had noticed as well. It was infused with silver vines, winding down into a large convexed silverite blade and up into a smaller concaved blade.

The blades glinted. At the base of the smaller were what could’ve been ram horns, if not for their being violet. Tied to the staff in cream cloth, they curled down to purple tassels tied to their tips and beaded with lyrium stones. 

“Tal vashoth.” Fenris growled.

“Are you certain?” Hawke asked. The second Qunari was towing a small serabas behind him, it’s face shrouded by the gold plate their mages were forced to wear.

Fenris grunted. 

Hawke smiled feeling the earth rumble below him as he reached for his mana pool. Some loot might come from this trip after all.

The Qunari tugged on the serebass’s collar as he stepped to the base of the cliff. The mage stumbled and fell forward unable to catch itself with its hands tied behind its back. A quiet cry escaped it as it landed, the gold metal veil rolling off it in a sea of chestnut hair.

“Doesn’t look like a Qunari to me,” said Varric casually pulling Bianca from his back.

Round jade eyes peered up at Hawke. They disarmed him for a moment before her captor blocked his view picking her up and fitting the gold veil back in place. He moved to finish his assent pausing when he saw them.

“Hawke,” he growled. It wasn’t a surprise that the Qunari knew him.

“Qunari,” frowned Hawke. “Hardly seems fair, making a girl where a mask meant for someone twice her size.”

“Every precaution must be taken with Serebas,” snarled the Qunari whom Hawke now realized was carrying the woman’s equipment.

“Shouldn’t their be one of those men with the sticks –“ whispered Meril.

“Avvarad,” said Fenris, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, don’t Qunari mages always travel with an Avva -“ Meril sighed unable to pronounce it.

“She is Tal Vashoth, we are returning her to Avvarad,” said the first.

“I thought the Qun did not require the Qunari to hunt Tal Vashoth,” pried Fenris. Hawke noticed his posture change, his weight shifting into his back foot, preparing.

“You cannot hope to understand the Qun!” shouted the second.

“Well aren’t we testy this morning,” jibbed Hawke. “He’s grumpier than you Fenris, isn’t he Varric?”

“I don’t think you should be poking the proverbial bear with a stick, Hawke.”

“Oh Varric, you know me better than that.”

Varric replied by knocking Bianca.

“How about you give me the girl, and I’ll escort her back to the Arishok like a proper gentleman.”

Fenris snorted.

The second Qunari shucked the cloak and staff.

“Let us pass, Hawke.”

“I –“

The second charged, horns down with blind rage. Hawke used his horns as leverage slinging over him as cold welled up in his chest. He paralyzed the second Qunari pushing the frost through his staff to lock the beasts limbs in ice.

Fenris brought his great sword down severing the Qunari’s head from his neck just as the first slid to a halt in front of Varric, an arrow protruding from his skull.

Hawke stepped around the Qunari’s head as Fenris mumbled something furious about spilling blood for an unknown mage. 

The woman had moved so her back was up against the cliff side. She was squirming up and down against it, her arms straining against their bonds. Her chest was heaving, concealed only by a lace jumper sewn with fine lyrium stones in veins that reminded Hawke of the deep roads. They dripped down over her shoulders to cup her breasts, twisting down her sides to cross over her pelvis and slip down into high navy boots.

“What are you doing?”

She stilled. Hawke moved to check around her back. Her binds were fraying from the friction against the rock.

“Clever girl,” he told. He grasped the chin of the gold veil and she flinched. “It’s alright,” he told her as he removed it.

Again, jade eyes blinked up at him through a waterfall of chestnut hair. Unthinking, Hawke brushed it from her face, letting his fingers linger in its softness.

“Thank-you,” she said through full angled lips.

Hawke turned her gently and used the end of his staff to cut the ropes.

“I’m Hawke.”

“Yes,” she smiled, lighting her eyes as she rubbed her wrists. “Yes, you are.”

“And I’m Meril!” said the small elf cheerfully coming to stand beside them. She held out the woman’s cloak and staff for her.

“Oh! Thank-you Meril!” The woman grabbed the staff.

“Woah!” Hawke shouted as she wedged it between her legs, the top blade nearly slicing his face.

“Oh! Sorry,” she said as she took the cloak. She folded it in half, tying it at her hip in a glittering skirt with its feather inlay falling inside out over top.

“Are those dragon scales?” Meril asked tilting her head as the woman continued to fumble with the cloth. She pinched the feathered layer on the right, and then the left, zipping it into cylinders.

“You bet,” she smiled. It was a wide smile that made her eyes squint and dimples appear on her cheeks. 

“How did you get so many?” asked Meril.

The short layer disappeared as the woman slipped her arms into the now sleeves of the cloak, bringing it up to hug her hourglass figure. The lyrium veins underneath peaked out through wide diamond gaps in the cloak on her sides. 

She hung the wide hood across her crown and rolled her shoulders. “You only have to kill one high dragon to get enough for a cloak, darling.”

“That’s a story I’ll have to hear,” said Varric, his eyes mischievous as he sized the woman up.

“Ser dwarf,” she curtseyed.

“Fereldan are we?”

“If you count Orzammar as a Fereldan city.”

“My brother wouldn’t,” snorted Varric.

“Your brother being Bartrand Tethras?”

Fenris growled at the mention of the vial dwarf and Hawke snapped to attention from his ogling.

“You’ve met my brother?” Varric asked, more steady than Hawke would have managed.

The woman shifted shrugging off their sudden intensity. “Brother Burkel just told me that if ever I met a dwarf with the Tethras seal, “ she smirked meeting Varric’s gaze with twinkling eyes, “That the handsome one would be Varric.”

Meril giggled and Varric, after a moment, let out a hearty chuckle as well.

“Don’t let that go to your head, Varric,” laughed Hawke.

“We should move on,” said Fenris turning towards Kirkwall.

“You, you I have to buy a drink,” said Varric. “Are you headed to Kirkwall?”

“In such fine company, I certainly think so.”

“Oh I love it when we make new friends!” said Meril moving to walk with the woman. “This way!” she said taking her arm and following after Fenris.

Varric and Hawke exchanged a look. Neither of them had been fooled. Whatever she knew about Bartrand, they would know it too.


	2. Chapter 2

Her name was Saria, and if she had a last she didn’t say, her hips swaying with a familiar swagger Hawke couldn’t quite place.

“My mother was a fortune teller from Ravani –“ Sarai told Meril continuing the animated conversation they had been having all the way from the coast.

That explained it, Hawke thought.

“Was she very good at telling fortunes?” asked Meril.

“I don’t know, I never knew her, but I hear it’s how she ensnared my Father in Highever.”

That swagger must just be built into the woman across the sea then, Hawke smirked thinking of Isabella in a place where lush fabrics hung down brick walls in thin crowded alleyways.

“So you ended up in Orzammar after the fall of the Couslands?” asked Varric. Trust the storyteller to know the ins and outs of every family in Ferelden.

“No, I wasn’t born in Ferelden. I had never been until I heard of the Blight.”

“You went to Fereldan for the Blight? Why would you do that?” asked Meril. 

“Good hunting?” Saria said with a roll of her shoulders.

“My clan left when the Blight came.”

Hawke could hear the sadness in Meril’s ever-light voice.

“Where is your clan now?”

“They’re just up the mountain. I moved into the alienage when I met Hawke. Keeper Marathari has a glare that will turn your bones to jelly.”

Saria’s laugh was sweet, high and free. “I used to know a man like that, his name was Edmonde.”

“Did he tie you in roots when you tried to escape on a halla??

“No, at White Spire if you had half a mind to escape it was pretty easy to slip through the cracks.” 

“Isn’t White Spire one of the circle towers in Orlais?” asked Hawke.

“Last time I checked.” Saria replied with a wink over her shoulder.

“Blondie is going to love that,” said Varric. 

“I quite enjoy blondes myself.”

“Would you enjoy an abomination?” snarled Fenris, clearly annoyed by the girl’s constant chatter.

“No, that might be a deal breaker.”

Hawke smirked at the her easy acceptance of Fenris’ plain dislike. He wondered if it came from living with Templars.

Capping the last sand dune of the coast, Kirkwall came into view. The land twisted into rock, ascending to the crying statues of the gallows and then past them to the looming towers of High Town before picking at the sky as the peaks of the Vimmark Mountains.

“Bloody freemarches…” whispered Saria.

“It’s actually quite cozy once you get past the thieves, and the smell, and the angry Qunari, and the angry blood mages, and the angry Templars and –” Meril trailed off. 

“I think it’s safe to say once you get past most of it, Meril,” smirked Hawke. 

“Freemarchers have a temper? I knew those heights were trying to compensate for something,” said Saria nudging Meril with an elbow.

“It’s also on the side of a mountain” stated Fenris.

“It isn’t much, but it’s home,” nodded Varric. He adjusted Bianca on his back. “Now, can we get that drink already?”

_________

_ After the Attack on the Chantry  _

_ Varric _

“Are you sure you need to hear this story, Seeker?” Varric looked up from the chair Cassandra had cornered him in. 

“It isn’t one I enjoy telling,” he said. “It’s not the connection you’re looking for.”

“I need to know if the girl affected his decisions,” said the Seeker, observing him over the dagger she spun into the table between them.

“Not all tragic love stories are meant to be told.”

“She’s imperative to his story, Varric,” she sighed. “She could lead us to him.”

“I doubt that, very much.” Varric replied. He touched his brow, a rare show of stress for the dwarf. He returned to the story with sad eyes.

“Hawke and Saria were fast friends, even after Isabella tried to scare her off at the Hanged Man later that week,” Varric smirked at the thought, his mischievous light returning. He would do right by the girl, he would tell the story she deserved. 

“The thing you have to remember about Rivaini – any pirate really – they aren’t big on sharing.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Hawke had taken Daisy and Saria up into the mountains earlier that day. He wanted their help collecting herbs he had promised to a potions crafter in the Gallows._

_Daisy abandoned them in the High Town market once they’d returned to the city. She was eager to see the others at the Hanged Man where as Hawke and Saria — well, they seemed to enjoy simply lingering in each other’s company._

“These are perfect!” Saria gushed running her fingers over a coil of thin twine at a tackle stand.

Hawke cocked his head towards her. “Is this where you tell me you're some kind of fisher-women?”

Saria laughed easily with a roll of her eyes. She reached into a pocket hidden in the feather layer of her cloak, she wore it half down that day

When she kept rummaging Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re asking too much of a bunch of fabric, it’s bad enough it’s more complicated than the naughty chantry sister at the Rose.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying - pockets, lyrium stones, dragon scales – where does it end?”

“Jealous, Hawke?”

Saria cut him off before he could respond. “A-ha!” She pulled a closed fist from her pocket and then frowned. “Will you buy a foot of that for me?”

“What?”

“Well I could take another moment to find my purse but it’s only a shilling.”

Hawke couldn’t help smiling when she stuck her bottom lip out further. He didn’t think he would ever meet a mage as obviously direct as Meril. He offered the stand-keep a shilling and took the twine it bought him. When he looked back Saria was climbing the stairs to the market overlook.

“Common then!” she said when he paused continuing up the stairs. She moved to the far corner of the landing.

Hawke approached as she busied herself at the railing. She looked over her shoulder, “Close your eyes.”

He opened his mouth to protest.

“Closed!”

Hawke frowned and did so listening to the noises of the market and straining for a hint of what she was doing. Saria took the twine from him.

“Lube up your fingers.”

“Buy me dinner first –“

“You’ve got a come back for everything don’t you?”

“I-“ Hawke frowned lost for words.

“There’s no Templars, common one hand.”

Hawke whispered the enchantment calling grease into his hand.

Sarai’s hand was warm and gentle when it cupped his. She ran her finger from the base of his wrist and in a slow circle across his palm taking the liquid. 

Hawke suppressed a shiver feeling like the act was much more intimate than it should have been. Who was this girl, he thought. 

“Do all men follow your orders so readily?” he asked, wanting to shake it off. “I suspect you lead them to some dark places.” 

Incidentally, all he accomplished was putting his foot in his mouth.

“A woman who takes charge is nothing to be wary of, Hawke,” Saria said. “But I’ve never shied from a man wanting to take control in — more private matters.” 

Hawke opened his eyes, stunned. 

Saria shrugged, “I’ve just never met a man who wanted it.” 

Those jade eyes were mischievous when he met them, and he relaxed realizing she was biting her lip to suppress a giggle. She laughed at his expression. 

“Staff,” she ordered next.

Hawke unclipped his staff – a fur knobbed and dangerous looking thing with a scathe at one end - and held it before Saria. She took the twine, concealing it’s length in her fist, and tied it above where the blade attached to a sphere and was welded to the wood. When she left go, the twine hung down the blade, casting dancing blue shadows upon it. She had slipped lyrium stones between the vines of the braid.

Saria looked at Hawke for approval. “The lyrium stones burn the grease because it’s magic-born so they become engrained with the twine. I thought it might be nice as a thank-you for the Tal Vashoth.”

Hawke thumbed the stones inquisitively.

“I guess I probably should have asked you if –“

Hawke looked at Saria incredulously, silencing her. His mischievous spark returned, he darted out and kissed her like the snap of a rubber band, before returning to the stones.

“Uh –” she stumbled stunned, her cheeks flushed making her eyes stand out like gemstones.

“Just taking charge,” shrugged Hawke. He clipped his staff back in place.

“I’m – uhm – glad you like it.”

“I never said that,” said Hawke with a straight face.

Saria frowned. “Then give it back.”

“No, I think you’ll have to win it back.”

Saria crossed her arms. “And how’s that?”

“You’ll just have to come to Wicked Grace – tonight.”

“I’ve no idea how to play cards.”

“Guess I’ll just have to walk around with this for everyone to see,” Hawke sighed. He shook his head feigning regret. After a moment, he took pity on Sarai’s confusion. He took her hand and laid a kiss upon it, committing the smell of lilacs and mint to memory. “Thank-you, Saria,” he tempted like only a Hawke could.

Another blush was his reward.

“Yes, well, move along. I’ve got a cards lesson to attend,” Saria pushed past him.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Things didn’t become serious between Hawke and Saria until weeks later. She was content to leave him to Isabella after that first night with the two of them. From what I’m told the experience was a little too intense for her — Ravani always said go big or go home.  _

_ And Hawke, well, he said he was content that way too. Poor bastard never stopped talking about her though, I can imagine that meant he couldn’t stop thinking about her. _

“Varric, she’s missing,” said Hawke, storming into my suite with all the bold and brazen any hero would be expected to have.

“I hate it when  _ she _ goes missing,” I said, raising an eyebrow over a stack of letters.

“Not Isabella — Saria,” Hawke began to pace back and forth the length of the table in my suite. I wondered if it was something he had picked up from Anders.

“I went to Meril’s to – well, I’m not sure, I went to Meril’s to see her, I FIsuppose, and she told me Saria hadn’t been home in a fortnight. A fortnight!”

“Maybe I should get us some ale –”

“I don’t need ale! I need to know where that infuriating woman is!”

I summoned Nora for ale anyways.

“She wouldn’t leave would she? Not without saying anything,” Hawke picked up his mug when it came and drank it in one breath. He looked at his mug and then back at me. 

“What in Maker’s name is wrong with me?”

“I’m not sure the Maker knows, Hawke.”

“She should have been back by now though, shouldn’t she?”

“Who should be back from where?” Anders asked, joining us at the table.

“Saria.”

“The spirit mage you fancy?”

“I –” Hawke looked at me, suspicious.

I shrugged. 

“Don’t blame him, it’s a bit obvious, isn’t it?” Anders exonerated me. “Doesn’t she go hunting for all sorts of things outside the city?”

“But usually she takes someone with her — ”

“Wasn’t she travelling alone when you met her?” Anders took a pack of cards from a fold in his robes and began to shuffle them. “Maybe she found what she was searching for.”

It wasn’t the nicest thing to say, but Anders always was a bit blunt. A little jealous too.

“Hawke’s worried she was immune to his irresistible charms,” I said.

Hawke wanted to press further, I think, but his pride stopped him. 

Hawke had thought — he looked at the twine of lyrium stones hanging from his staff. It wasn’t as if he had expected her to stay — the people who came through Kirkwall didn’t tend to. But how long had those jade eyes been trying to con him into thinking otherwise?

“I will not miss her, but I hope she returns for you, Hawke,” Fenris sat and tapped on the table. Anders dealt him in. 

Hawke met Fenris’s emerald gaze. “Is it Wicked Grace night?”

“Did you forget?” I asked. 

Hawke mumbled something and tapped on the table. 

He stumbled home that night, arm in arm with Fenris, leaving the tavern singing songs about wenches when Isabella remarked he was far too drunk to be of any use to her.

“Did you love anyone as a slave, Fen?” Hawke staggered as he tried to look at the elf.

“Slaves were not –“

“Ah old friend, love doesn’t care about rules set by magisters.”

Fenris adjusted Hawke on his shoulder as he dragged him up the stairs of the market. He wondered how the man could drink so much wine with him in his mansion and yet be so intoxicated on cheap ale.

“I was in love with a girl back in Lothering, Beth and I weren’t really supposed to go out, you know —” Hawke paused to let out a furious belch. “Templars, and their shiny armour, and what not.”

“I don’t —“

“Oh Fen, give a dog a bone.”

Hawke reached for his keys and allowed Fenris to prop him up while he fiddled with the lock. Fenris helped him into the foyer and sat him down on the bench there. Hawke laid down and kicked his boots off, his bed seemed dauntingly far. His back would harass him for it in the morning. He passed out before the elf retreated back to High Town.

Hawke woke due to a furious pounding in his head. He pushed himself upward and let his head hang between his knees. It was just early enough in the morning that the stars had disappeared but the sky hadn’t begun to change, just long enough for the ale to subside. The pounding continued but it was followed the second time by a voice.

“Hawke? Hawke are you there?”

“Who in the Maker’s name –“

“Hawke! Let me in!” Saria demanded again from behind the door.

Hawke pushed himself to his feet, not without great effort. Leaning on the doorknob for support he managed it open. A wave of dragon scales rushed through the door moving to close it before he could.

Saria let out a huff of breath when the door remained close. She met Hawke’s eyes mere inches from him. “Well,” she said screwing up her nose. “You smell like a brewery.”

“What are you doing here?”

Saria peaked over the window in the door. “Perhaps we should move away from the door.”

Hawke watched as she moved into the firelight of the living room noticing for the first time that her cloak was more red than silver. “Are you hurt?”

Saria wiped her brow leaving more blood across it. She unclipped her staff seemingly unaware that he had spoken and placed it beside the floor. His mabari whimpered bumping into her side. “I’m fine, just winded, boy.”

“So the dog gets a response and I don’t?” smirked Hawke, suddenly sobering as she peeled off her cloak.

“Oh I’m sorry Hawke. I- ah.” Saria winced looking under her arm to where a blade had nicked her lower ribs.

“That’ll be the problem with holes in your armour then.” Hawke almost growled taking the cloak she still held. He threw it onto his writing desk. “Stop poking it, let me see –“

Saria sighed and lifted her arms gingerly.

Hawke knelt to examine the mage. It was deep but had stopped sometime before from clotting.

“Are you going to look at it all night or heal it?” said Saria feeling drained and trying to resist leaning on Hawke’s shoulders. Her heart became erratic when he was this close.

“Always so bossy.” muttered Hawke. He fitted his palms on either side of her waist noticing the size of them in comparison to her. It was a protector’s action, he knew it as he let his magic flow from her crown to her toes looking for further injury. He rose when he found a concussion.

Hawke surrounded Saria, cupping her face as he did now, it was hard to think of anything else. His thumbs brushed her temples and she leaned into him as her headache began to recede, the result of magic touching magic, the feeling of home.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked when she looked at him again.

Saria thought of the Templars who had chased her all the way back from the coast. Large men with cruel words and intentions, not the world weary and almost kind ones like back home. Could she call it home? She had been on the road longer than she had lived there now.

“Saria?” Hawke begged.

“Just –“ she shivered and wrapped her arms around his waist falling into him. Hawke cupped her shoulders as she rested her cheek on his chest. She felt cold and he wondered how long she had been running, and from what, before realizing it didn’t matter.

“They thought I was a blood mage,” Saria offered anyways. “I was tracking when I came across a group of slaughtered merchants. I was in the middle when they appeared, and then the mages were behind me and they were fighting and they assumed – I’m fine, I just, need a moment.“

Hawke pulled her closer trying not to let his anger rise from his belly.

“Meril doesn’t have a bath.”

“What?” asked Hawke pulling Saria back by her shoulders.

“Can I bathe here? Meril doesn’t have a tub. I haven’t had a proper bath since I arrived in –“

Hawke laughed, silencing her.

“What?”

“You’re absolutely crazy.” He laughed again.  _ And yet, I can’t get you out of my mind. _ “I’ll fetch you some water.”

“Hawke –“ she said catching his arm as he turned to go. “Thank-you.”

Hawke just laughed again.


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out there were no bathing rooms available except for Hawke’s ensuite. 

He couldn’t draw water in Leandra’s room, he hadn’t been in her room since after his mother’s murder, he couldn’t draw water in the servants quarters, Bohdan, Sandal and Orana had gone to bed hours ago. 

That’s not to say that Hawke minded a beautiful woman bathing in the next room, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time, but he felt like there was something more gentlemanly he should be doing. Let it be known, this was the first time Hawke ever thought to be a gentleman.

When the bath was full, Hawke splashed the water over his face, very aware of the smell he had contracted at the Hanged Man. He stripped out of his leathers in favour of something more casual, first a light shirt and a dark set of bottoms.

“I’m not going to sleep in a shirt,” Hawke muttered to himself pulling off the shirt with a shake of his head. 

Was he nervous? Why was he nervous? Saria was going to bathe and then… Then he should make up a bed for her. How did one make up a bed?

Hawke threw his shirt on the floor, then he picked it up and hung it back where it was supposed to be. Maker forbid the girl think he as a slob. 

He looked at his home robe, she would need something to change into, her clock needed to be cleaned. Something of Mother’s… No, he draped it over his shoulder before walking, more briskly than he should have, into the hall.

Hawke paused in the shadow of the stairwell when he saw Saria again. She hadn’t heard him, she was staring into the fire as if it held all the answers she could ever need. It cast her in a warm glow, like a comforting embrace, and she seemed to lean towards it, her eyes unwavering. She had never appeared small to him, her personality had quite the opposite effect. But from here, above where he could look without hesitation, and she could be seen without aware, she seemed to fold in on herself.

“Is it time to give up, Brother?” Saria wrapped her arms under her bust and rested her chin against her shoulder.

Hawke began down the stairs.

“Am I defeated?” She ran her hand through the fire, the flames licking around her hand but never upon it. “Perhaps it’s time I found somewhere to stow my heart.”

“Saria.” Hawke whispered wishing to draw the mage back gently.

Saria turned and straightened to give him a weak smile, which turned into a secret as she noticed his bare chest and the low hang of his trousers. While she usually enjoyed stalkier men, Hawke had a way of disarming her, and seeing his torso, lean and lethal in the firelight, flexing even in a simple walk, left her cheeks blush.

Hawke offered her his robe. “Don’t want you getting blood on the furniture.”

“Thanks,” Saria took the robe. “Unzip me?”

Hawke stepped foreword and Saria turned around. She flinched when he grasped the zipper.

“It’s alright,” he told her.

“I know.”

The zipper ended just above her hips revealing flawless olive skin.

Saria grasped the shoulders of the jumper and Hawke caught sight of a small griffon, tattooed in warden blue on her shoulder before she told him to turn around.

“Only girl I’ve ever met with a griffon tattoo was a Grey Warden,” said Hawke petting his mabari.

“Now you’ve met one who does and isn’t.”

“Just a supporter then?”

“I’m a little more complicated than that Hawke.”

“What woman isn’t?” Hawke smirked turning as she finished tying the front.

Again Hawke marveled at how small the girl looked, out of her armour. He met her eyes for a moment, allowing himself a moment of her.

Sarai wondered at the amber wishing she could decipher it. Hawke seemed warmer here, away from the others.

“Common then, let’s get you cleaned up.” Hawke winked. He lead Saria upstairs refusing the urge to explain why he had had to draw the water in his room rather than another. He held the door to the bath open.

“Is this where the magic happens?” Saria smirked as she passed Hawke’s infamously large bed.

“I don’t like to brag,” Hawke smirked. “Oh who am I kidding, that’s all I ever do.”

That won him a laugh as Saria passed into the bathing room. “Had a taste of all of Kirkwall’s favorites have we?”

“There are still a few I’d like to try.” Hawke met Saria’s eye and then let his gaze travel over her in a way she thought she could feel. When he looked back she had too look away, smirking again and toying with a finger in the water.

“Is it warm enough?” Hawke asked, he knew Saria wasn’t keen on the elemental magics.

Sarai peaked up at him and shook her head.

Hawke stepped up but Saria didn’t move. He smirked and reached around her, so close she had to grasp the basin to avoid falling in. Another inch and they would be flush against each other. Sarai was entranced, watching the fire in his eyes even as he warmed his palms to heat the bath.

“Warm enough now?” he whispered.

Saria reached her hands back, letting her fingertips trail over his hands as she tested the water.  _ Kiss me _ , she begged as she felt her mana reach out and brush his. He was brilliant, the force of his light and power practically roaring within him. She wondered what she felt like to him, if she even came close. She nodded.

Hawke forced himself to retreat, he wasn’t sure he would be able to let go if he took hold of her. He had never been with another mage before. Saria was magnetic and an instantaneous craving, like a drug he had been addicted to for years. “Good.” He heard himself say. His mind was warring with his heart, one screaming for him to stay, the other commanding him to flee. “I’ll be just in the other room.”

As fate would have it, Hawke never had a choice, much like most of the chaos he was thrown in.

“Hawke,” demanded Saria.

Hawke spun and caught Saria, their souls colliding like a storm and thunder. Her lips were as spirited as she was, and he met her ferocity stunned by the perfection of it. Her hands twisted up in his hair and he wrapped his arms around her back wishing her closer even as their mana intertwined, flawlessly and without hesitation, like close would never be close enough. When he begged a taste of her with his tongue she complied pulling it into her mouth. When she let her heels slip back to the floor from her toes, breaking the kiss, his heart continued to pound. Breathless she stared at him with dark eyes and flushed cheeks. She reached up again and kissed him gently, as if worried she wouldn’t get to do it again.

Hawke cupped her cheeks and returned the favor.

“Hawke –“ she started as her eyes opened again.

“Shhh,” he told her. He didn’t want an explanation for what he didn’t yet understand. He kissed Saria’s forehead. “Go on, I’ll be just outside.”

Saria nodded. She took a deep breath and retreated to the bath tub. When she heard the click of the door she shed her robe and sank into the water. As the warmth sank into her bones she had the thought that it was nice to have someone waiting for her, if only for tonight.

Hawke leaned back against the door. What was he doing? Who was he kidding? He had to have her. Even if she could disappear tomorrow.

Hawke laid down in his bed vowing to wait until Saria had finished. He would confront her of where she had been and why she was in Kirkwall. Then he would take her, Maker willing, and convince her to stay. Hawke shook his head. Why would a girl of dragon scales and lyrium stones stay here, with him? He groaned inwardly, again he asked himself what he was doing.

The mage woke to the thud of Saria running into his dresser.

“Ouch – stupid toe!” hissed the girl.

“Saria?” asked Hawke his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Shhhhh – go back to sleep, Hawke.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I – Well, I didn’t know – yes, Meril has a bed for me.” Saria said stumbling again.

“Fancy a walk with the Lowtown drunks and other marvels?”

“I’ll be fine, go back to sleep. Can I borrow a shirt and trousers until I get my things cleaned?”

Hawke sighed, he managed himself out of bed and to his dresser. He picked out a shirt and bottoms and made it to the door before Saria reached it. He snapped at her fingers when she pawed his face looking for the exit.

Saria shrieked in surprise.

He held out the clothes for her in the darkness bringing the embers of the fire up slightly so she could see them.

She took them, “Thanks.” When Hawke didn’t move she raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not walking back to the Alienage at this hour unless I walk with you, and I’m not walking with you.”

“I’m perfectly cabable –“

Hawke made a spinning motion with his finger. “Go put those on.”

Saria rolled her eyes. She turned around, untied the robe and dropped it right there in front of him.

Hawke grunted as if Saria had struck him, attempting to keep his eyes trained on the back of her head. But then her hair swept over her shoulder in tumbling waves that parted when she bent forward over the long curve of her spine that ended in two thumb sized dimples in the small of her back. She slipped the fabric up over a plump flawless bottom, the kind that teased a man when a woman sauntered, the Rivani kind, and Hawke almost let out a whine. He thought the griffon on her shoulder winked at him as she pulled his shirt down over her head. 

“May I go now?” Saria asked turning on him again. His shirt was much too long for the girl but it tightened at her chest revealing the lines of her breasts even with the ties left loose.

“How is it that even in piles of fabric you manage to look like a goddess?” Hawke asked, giving her a glimpse of his charming lopsided smirk. It faltered when he remembered he had forgotten to make up a bed for her.

“Hawke–“ started Saria losing her confidence in his wake.

Hawke let go of the fire letting the embers die again. She’d just have to sleep with him. He grabbed Saria by the shoulders to a squeak of protest and backed her towards the bed. “You. Sleep. Here.” Resisting the urge to pull her close even as he fought off a yawn. “I’ll even let you have the side of the bed I’ve been warming up for the last hour. I know, I’m an amazing host.”

Saria grumbled as she slipped between the sheets.

“What?” Hawke asked as he climbed into the other side.

“I said, an amazing host would cuddle.” Saria said turning to face him. They were still an arms length apart in that damned too-large bed.

“I’m not much of a cuddle-r.” Hawke said wishing for much darker things. “Especially when it comes to griffon tattooed temptresses I know far too little about.”

Saria was quite for a moment and Hawke thought he might have lost her.

“Saria?” he asked drawing her back from her thoughts. He couldn’t tell in the darkness if she had closed her eyes.

Why did she like it so much when he said her name? Saria drew the blankets up closer to her chin. “I got the griffon when I was journeying to Fereldan,” she offered, it wouldn’t hurt to share a little. “I met an Dalish Crow in Antiva who was taking ship to Denirum in search of the wardens – like I was.”

“The only person I know involved with the wardens are trying to avoid them.”

Saria laughed. “He had tattoos that criss crossed under his eyes,” Saria said drawing under her eyes, where the elf had had them. 

“I thought they were strange at first, but as we became better acquainted I began to think he wouldn’t be himself without them, especially after he told me why he had gotten them.” 

Saria paused wondering if the mage before her could understand. 

“When he offered to give me one as a parting gift, I guess you could say, I allowed him to. He chose the griffon, not me. I think it’s fitting when I look at it now.”

“Is that where you go when you disappear for days?”

“Where?”

“Looking for the wardens?”

Saria hesitated, unable to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure what she was searching for anymore. More herbs for more potions for another journey to another corner of Thedas. Maybe she should go back to Fereldan and petition the King again. Maybe the Queen had returned from Amaranthine. Did she really want to have another person tell her her brother was dead?

Hawke watched as Saria’s eyes grew distant and sad. They seemed to change into a deeper shade of green. He tried to bring the light back to them. “You’ve been to Orlais, Antiva, Fereldan and now Kirkwall? Maker girl, how old are you?”

“Hawke!” Saria laughed smacking him blindly in the darkness. “What do we never ask a woman?”

“Her weight” Hawke laughed.

“Well, I know what I weigh. I can’t be as specific about my age. Maybe late 20s.”

Silence settled between them and Hawke thought again of Anders' stories of the circles of Magi. He knew they rarely kept track of such things. “Did you grow up in the Circle?”

“In a way, I suppose.”

“How did they find you?”

“I had a dog in the orphanage in Val Royeaux. It fell asleep on my bed one night and died.”

Hawke frowned.

“Hold on –“ Saria laughed. Hawke wished her onward inwardly, her voice had a way of soothing him. 

“The women who cared for the children, she carried it outside and buried it. She had this thing that soup could heal any broken heart. The whole time she was fixing lunch I was crying and crying. Turns out I cried until I managed to reanimate the dog. He was sitting the end of my bed covered in mud by the time she got back – spilled the soup all over the floor.” Saria laughed again. When Hawke didn’t respond she called his name. “Did you fall asleep?”

“Hawke?” Saria whispered again even as the bed shifted. She jumped when she realized the mage had moved closer, his warmth sinking through the covers.

Hawke snuck one arm under Saria’s pillow and draped the other over her waist sneaking close enough to rest his chin on her crown. She smelled like rose water from her bath which only spurred him to pull her closer.

“What are you doing?” Saria asked. “What happened to not cuddling with griffon tattooed temptresses you barley knew?”

“Shhh –“ he grumbled barely conscious. “I know you a little more now.”

Saria shifted and wrapped her arms around him in turn.


	6. Chapter 6

Hawke woke up the next morning full of sobriety. Saria was curled up underneath him, her hand curled into his chest and her hair a mess across her face. He reached down and brushed it aside letting the light caress her cheeks. Tendrils of blue connected them as he drew his fingers away.

He had never seen anything like it, or heard of anything like it for that matter. He felt energized, alive, with Saria so near. He didn’t want to be away from her, didn’t want to let go. How was it that she fit so well here in his arms, lips swollen and red from sleep. Hawke allowed himself a brush of her lips. She was absolutely beautiful.

Saria stirred reaching for him even before she opened her eyes. “Oh,” she said realizing he was already there. It hadn’t been a dream.

“Oh, indeed.” Hawke smirked. He stroked her cheek marvelling at the softness of her skin before leaning down and kissing her again and lingering.

“It’s warm, what time is it?”

It must have been early afternoon. Summer’s in Kirkwall had a way of cooking a house, even one as large as Hawke’s, until each brick could cook an egg.

“I should go.”

_What?_ “Bohdan’s good, but he’s not that good.”

“What?” asked Saria as she sat up. “Oh, I should probably clean that myself anyways. There are a lot of enchantments and mechanisms –“

“He’s a dwarf with an enchanter for a son, Saria. He’ll manage.”

Saria rolled her shoulders and began plaiting her hair. “There’s things I have to get to though.”

“What things?” Hawke asked incredulous.

Saria rolled her shoulders, a nervous habit Hawke was beginning to recognize.

“You just got back from Maker knows where, are you so eager to run out and throw yourself into the fire again?”

“Cheap talk coming from you.” Saria scoffed.

“Saria –“ Hawke said sitting up and turning her too look at him. Her eyes were round like a fawn caught in a hunter’s sight. “It’s alright.” He told her taking her hands from her furious working in her hair.

“It’s alright?”

“You can stay here for as long as you like, I might even enjoy the company.” Hawke turned her back and continued braiding her hair, a trick he had picked up from doing Bethany’s hair.

Saria looked at her hands.

“If you want I can get Anders to prescribe the rest,” he told her lifting her chin.

Hawke’s eyes were soft when she met them. Saria wanted to trust them. “I’ve never been very good at staying put, Hawke.”

“Well maybe it’s time you tried again.” He wanted her to be there when he could admit to himself that he wanted her to say. He wanted to find his charisma and have a better way to say it before she ran off. He leaned forward and kissed her, smiling when a whimper breathed past him. He lifted his hands into her hair pulling her deeper into his kiss, like he could bind her there with him.

“Hawke,” came a tiny voice from the door just then. There was a rap on the door. “Hawke,” rap, “Hawke.”

Saria was through Hawke’s fingers and to the door before he could blink. Meril stood with her knuckles tapping the air where the door used to be stunned as well.

“Saria! Oh, I’ve interrupted something haven’t I? But you’re back! That is exciting. Can you be excited about people returning to Kirkwall? Is that a human custom?”

Saria gave the elf her wide smile. “Yes, I think that’s common.”

“Well never the less, I’m glad you’re back. Are you staying with Hawke now?”

“Daisy, there isn’t a whole lot of time for chit chat!” Varric called from down the stairs.

“Tell him he can skip getting dressed if he wants to Kitten,” Isabella called..

Saria met Hawke’s eye. He darted out of bed just as she made for the washroom, catching her around the middle.

“Oh no, there’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight beautiful.”

“If we go down there together, all of your friends are going to get the wrong impression.”

Hawke spun Saria around so she was flush against him. He put on his best-wounded puppy frown - the one they rumor melted the panties right off the Count De-Launcet’s wife.

Saria glanced at Meril and back at him. She wanted to stay, oh how she wanted to stay but where Hawke had a life here, she did not. Wouldn’t it make it harder for him if she walked down those stairs with him? They would think that they had slept together. Isabella would be jealous, though she wouldn’t let on as such. Hawke would be pestered for details. His suitors would crumble and then he would have to explain where she was when she didn’t come home. She wondered how good of a liar he was.

Hawke mistook her silence for submission. He cupped her cheek marveling again at the tendrils that snuck from his fingertips. “It’s alright,” he told her. He kissed her deliberately then. Holding her in place until she relaxed against her. Her warm eyes were twinkling when he opened his.

The mage took the other’s hand and lead her from the room.

____________

_ After the Attack on the Chantry _

_ Varric _

“When they came to the landing Hawke was beaming and Saria was blushing, clinging to his arm like he was her only life line. We had come to recruit him for a trip up Sundermount, I remember because that was the day I realized it.”

“Realised what?” asked Cassandra.

“That they were meant for each other. Hawke would tell you differently, but most of the women he sweet talked into his bed were chasing after him and that godly jaw of his. Saria turned the tables on him, made him the lion instead of the fawn. And Saria, well after testing him to the edge of him limits in the weeks to come, learned that she finally had someone loyal to care for. Sure, Hawke could still be taken at the drop of a hat, but he was more stable than anyone she had met on her travels, and he lit her up like a candle on Feast Day. She was never more animated, or happy than when she was with Hawke. Of course neither of them would admit it….

“It’s cliché to say, but Hawke and Saria completed each other. Where he was primeval, elemental and creation, she was spirit, enthropy and arcane. They worked as a single unit, usually back to back, unstoppable and immovable at the same time.

“His healing abilities dramatically improved while Saria was with us. He suddenly became interested in the art, a skill he had been dabbling in with Anders before her arrival, and next thing you know he was a spirit healer. Healing every scratch she caught outside of that indestructible cloak of hers.

“Being a healer himself however, meant Hawke became neglectful of everyone’s favorite rebel mage. 

“While Blondie dove further into the mage underground, Hawke was enjoying the life of a noble, a rebellious noble, but a noble all the same. 

“I think it’s the first time Hawke ever felt guilty for being happy, and yet it may well have been the happiest he’s been. 

“Honestly, it was an easy time for all of us — an interlude from all the Kirkwall Kirkwall-iness. We accepted her. Somewhere along the lines I started calling her Jades for those eyes of hers. She fit.

“What’s that human phrase? Nothing gold can stay.” 


	7. Chapter 7

_ Commander Meredith was an evil woman, whether that was because she was twisted by that idol or because her Maker made her so, I’m not inclined to learn. It doesn’t make the truth any less so. She set Hawke up, and Saria paid the price. _

Hawke came home expecting Saria to be there. She had told him she would be returning that day from another venture out into the mountains. Of course he had offered to go with her, but his duties had him backed into a corner with work, and she wasn’t about to add to that. He had reluctantly let her go, but only because she had promised that it would be her last trip. Templar security had become to tight, Kirkwall was crumbling, and even if she could take care of herself, Hawke felt better when she was around.

“Bohdan?” called Hawke entering the apartment. He must have been at the market.

There was a note on his desk.

_ Hello my bird of prey, _

_My hunt was unsuccessful, I doubt you’re surprised._

_Alas, I think I may have found what I was searching for._

_I’ve gone to see Fenris, he promised me a bottle of Apergreggio if ever I needed to celebrate._

_I’ll explain more tonight._

_Safely with the walls of Kirkwall as per the request of a Champion,_

_Saria_

Hawke was still smiling when I met him in the merchant’s guild.

“What’s ticking your toes, Hawke?” I asked him weighing a pouch of coins in one hand.

He tried to frown but failed. “Did you find it?” He had asked me to find a shoulder piece for his new armour. Strapping stuff, all royal in purple and black.

I shook my head.

“That stuff there is international grade,” said the merchant looking at Hawke. “Oversea’s I’d reckon.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for you Varric.” Hawke told me with a nudge.

I shook my head at his enthusiasm drawing a smile to my face as well. “I can reach to Ferelden, my other contacts have been closing their boarders to Free March trading. There all worried they’ll be caught smuggling mages out of the city.”

“Plus short arms doesn’t help.” Hawke smirked.

I slipped my coins into my back pocket. “We make up for it else where.”

“Maybe Seb still has ties outside of Kirkwall?”

I nodded and we started over the market. The Blooming Rose must have been slow that day. 

“Hawke!” called one of the girls, she was standing outside of the door trying to charm people in. I think her name was Marleen, she had visited Isabella once or twice.

Hawke put his head down, his usual hero smirk bashful.

“Hawke!” she called again. She came bouncing over before we could get around the corner, on account of my short legs of course. “I miss you!” she practically drooled on him, swinging her arms up around his shoulders. “You never visit anymore.” Her pout was tempting, for a human.

Hawke laughed, but I did miss the nervous undertone to it. “Can’t have too much of a good thing, Marleen. You start taking it for granted.”

“Or you get addicted,” purred Marleen, her finger stroked down the front of his chest plate. “Come and play, all the girls miss you.”

“And your coin,” I chuckled.

Marleen’s death glare was nothing compared to Ravani’s.

“I’m on my way –“

“Tonight then –“

“Well I –“

I couldn’t let him grasp at straws forever. “Hey Saria!” I shouted feigning a beckoning wave. 

“What?!” Hawke threw the girl backwards, she didn’t stand a chance. With a shriek she went tumbling, feet over ass, across a twin set of barrels.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

He ran to offer Marleen a hand when he realized Jades wasn’t there. Like the classy brothel worker she was she refused his hand and stormed back to the Rose.

I shook my head. “You’ve got it bad.”

To his credit he didn’t try to deny it.

“Some might even say you’re off the market?” I asked.

Hawke nodded breaking into a grin again. “Tonight’s the night, old friend. I’m going to convince her to stay.”

“You think she’ll go for it?”

Hawke looked uncertain for a moment.

“I mean of course she will, look at you!” I chuckled.

“It’s hard to believe, Varric.”

I didn’t think so.

“But I think I love her.”

I listened to his swooning as fodder for my stories.

“I mean she’s beautiful, thank the Maker for those –“ Hawke coughed. “But when I think about her, it’s not what I think about. I mean, she’s brilliant. I’d be surprised if there was something she couldn’t cast her way out of.”

And that was important for Hawke, he couldn’t lose someone else. It would destroy him. Jades had been working to convince him that she was strong, stronger even than Bethany.

Hawke touched his temples. “She’s fearless. I can’t get her out of my mind – should I be able to stop thinking about her?”

No, I thought.

“She’s courageous, and she’s soft, and she’s everything.” Hawke threw his hands. “Maker help me, I hope she feels the same way. I tried to buy her flowers, but I didn’t know if she’s want roses, or some kind of fancy Orlesian nonsense.”

“Somehow I don’t think she cares either way.” I laughed seeing Jades in the distance. She was coming down the stairs from the residential part of Hightown. She didn’t see anyone but Hawke, anyone could have told you that, and he lit up like the blazed sun on the Chantry medallions right there infront of the statue of Andraste.

Fenris was confused at first when Saria turned and handed him the bottle of wine she was carrying. When she turned down the stairs to fly towards Hawke, even Broody had to smile.

Hawke braced himself beside me even as she leapt into the air. Jades hit him like a golem knowing he would catch her. He lifted her up in a fit of laughter spinning her in a circle.

“It’s like you missed me.” He murmered as he looked up at her. She cupped his face and kissed him without shame, there in the square.

Saria’s hands let out blue wisps as he slid her down to her toes still locked in an embrace that could have set the Andraste ablaze. His hands at her back did the same. She whispered something in his ear before pulling back to look at him.

“Broody.” I laughed at Fenris as the elf joined us. He set his features back into a frown with a nod.

Hawke dropped his hands to hold hers still oblivious to everything around him. They sparked when their mana touched palm to palm.

“Hi, Varric.” laughed Saria coming away from Hawke, but only just.

I smirked, “Jades.”

“Sorry, Fen,” she said sheepishly.

“It’s no problem,” coughed Broody holding out the wine for her again.

Saria reached for it. “Shoot,” she said waving her hands making the wisps die. “Sorry, I’ll never learn.”

It’s when she reached for the bottle that the smile dropped from her face, the wave of a dispelling drain rebounding off of us. The bottle colliding with the concrete in a deafening crash in the slow of time.

Hawke was the first to react, catching her as her knees buckled. “Fenris!” he shouted even as the elf roared, realizing what was happening, the Imperium had taught him well.

If I had been quicker, I might have gotten a shot off, but I failed her that day. We hadn’t noticed them coming up behind us. A dozen Templars, dressed in full armor, five with blades already drawn.

They yanked Bianca off of me, Fenris lashing out in a fit of rage disappeared as they converged on him. Hawke couldn’t do anything, clutching Saria as he was.

“Stay away from us!” Hawke roared preparing to fight.

The Templars can feel that kind of thing. They were prepared, it was no secret the Champion of Kirkwall was a mage. They knocked him back, the second dispel robbing Saria of consciousness.

“Get her up,” called the captian.

“You can’t do this! This mage is under the protection of the –“ I shouted.

“These orders come directly from the Knight Commandar, dwarf.”

And then I recognized the voice. Knight Captian Cullen, leading the ranks.

“Stay down, Hawke,” he begged even as he pointed his blade at his throat.

Hawke tried to shield Saria but they dragged her out of his arms. His scream broke the hearts of everyone in the square.

“Step back!” called Cullen aware of the spectators.

One Templar held Jades up as another cuffed her hands behind her back. It wasn’t needed, her head lulled to one side, her forehead leaning on their pretentious armor, eyes rolled back in her head.

“If you do this -” Hawke started through his teeth.

“Don’t antagonize her further, Champion –“

“I’ll kill every last one of you.”

Cullen shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hawke.” He smashed his pommel into to Hawke’s forehead knocking him out.

“Cullen, please.” I begged as they carried her off. “Anything, name it, it’s yours. You’ve proven your strength –“

Cullen shook his head.

“She’s all he has.” I whispered.

They didn’t care, or they couldn’t. There was no mercy left to give in Kirkwall, not from Meredith.

“’Keep him from storming the gates, it’s what she wants,” were the last words the Captain had for me. The Templars released me and it was all I could do, to fetch Sebastian and carry what was left into the Chantry.


	8. Chapter 8

_ After the Attack on the Chantry _

_ Varric  _

“By the time I could get an informant to the Gallows they had already made her Tranquil,” the dwarf scoffed.

“The Knight Commander found an apostate and did what was necessary,” Cassandra told him, having to clear her throat to get past the lump in it.

“Did she, Seeker? We had to lock Hawke in the Chantry basement for days – when he stopped screaming, stopped trying to fight his way out - he refused to eat. And then they used her as a runner for lyrium.” Varric laughed cruelly. “Imagine our surprise when she showed up to the front door.

“We weren’t talking anymore, we had discussed it until we simply couldn’t bear it. The hopelessness of it left us sitting in the stairwell completely drained. Fenris stood beside the door to Hawke’s temporary cage staring at the floor. Isabella was twisting one of her knives into the marble stairs and I was shuffling a deck of cards, I’d lost track of the number of paper cuts I had.

“Anders had been there. Meril had told him on a run for supplies.”

____________

“Hawke,” Anders called through the door. “Hawke, it’s me, can I come in.”

Fenris growled something unintelligible.

“Hawke we need you.”

I looked up wondering where he was going with that.

“Now that Meredith has openly challenged you, the Templars are taking mages with no preamble whatsoever!”

“Back off, Anders. It’s not your place.” Isabella warned.

“Hawke, we –“

Anders flinched as the door vibrated a cloud of smoke puffing through the cracks.

“Hawke –“

Another three fireballs bounded off the door with a roar of fury.

“I don’t think he cares right now, Blondie.” I sighed.

Anders looked back at me. He turned and headed up the stairs. “Well, at least now he knows what we’re up against.”

“Elf!” I cursed halting Fenris before he moved against Anders. “Let him go.” I said more quietly.

Two days later we had come and gone for necessities but more or less returned to the same posts.

“He has to come out soon.” Isabella whispered. “Doesn’t he?”

“Would you?” Fenris asked.

Isabella sat down beside me with a huff. “And I thought we were unlucky before.” Ravani shook her head. “It’s too bad we can’t make Meredith tranquil.”

“Hush!” Fenris demanded.

It was too late. Today would be the day he stopped fighting.

“Varric,” called Hawke, his voice shaky through the door.

Isabella shut her eyes.

“Hawke,” I whispered.

“When?”

“Before you woke up, Hawke.”

“No,” escaped Hawke in a broken moan.

“I’m so sorry, Hawke,” said Isabella.

“No, no, no,” cried Hawke, the door creaking as he fell against it.

He was quiet for the next two nights. If you listened carefully you could hear him whispering her name. It was like a prayer to his Maker, over and over again. Isabella had to leave, she wasn’t meant for such heartbreak.

“Varric,” called Sebastian from the top of the stairs.

I looked back, I had no idea what time it was.

Choir boy nodded behind him, I’m not sure he could have spoken.

You don’t really understand the tranquil tragedy until someone close to you’s been branded.

She didn’t even look like Jades, standing there, just around the corner from Hawke’s cage. She was still all long brown hair and sparkling armor, but her eyes were darker - the shimmer behind them, the one that turned her unique green into luminous jade, was flat and off.

“Hello Varric.” she more told than greeted in monotone. Her dimples were no where to be seen.

“Jades,” I swallowed.

“What – oh yes, your love of nicknames. Brother Sebastian why have you brought him?”

“He wanted to see you.” Choir boy breathed.

“Did he? Well I have business to attend to. Where are the supplies?”

I shivered at the lack of affliction in her voice.

“Are you cold?”

“No, Jades.” I whispered. I nodded to Choir Boy. He pretended to leave us.

“But your hands are shaking.”

“I know.” I said as Sebastian poured one of my potions onto a cloth behind her.

“Is it an emotional reaction you are having then?”

Sebastian was nimble even after his days in the chantry. He covered her mouth knocking her out. I couldn’t watch how she wouldn’t even struggle, I had to look away.

“Keep her safe.” I told Sebastian. “I’ll see what Hawke wants to do.”

Choir Boy nodded, and it was like watching her being dragged off by those bastards all over again.

“She’s here.” Fenris assumed as I came back down the stairs.

“Choir Boy’s taken her for a nap up stairs.” I shivered again.

“Hawke,” called Fenris wanting it done. “What would you have us do?”

There was no answer for a moment. An eerie uncomfortable silence falling over the place, so low I could hear the elf’s breathing.

“Hawke.” Fenris asked again.

“Can I see her?”

Fenris met my eye, clearly he didn’t think it was a good idea.

“Trust me, Hawke. It’s not something you want to see.”

“I need to know – I have to be sure.”

I tossed the keys at Broody with a sigh.

The door creaked open and Hawke appeared. His movements were ghostly, his face as gaunt as one. He didn’t meet my eyes. He was too proud for that. They were stung red and puffy, the amber of them like a beacon against the shades.

For a moment, no one breathed. His grip flexed on his staff, his mouth in a hard line. With a slowness that made it seem as if he was warring against an unseen force, Hawke handed his staff to Fenris.

The elf took it but Hawke’s palm turned upwards, still outstretched. Fenris cocked his head slightly, squinting at his friend.

“Your knife,” Hawke said hoarsely. He was dehydrated. His skin was sickly white. He looked worse than when he’d clutched Carver in the Deep Roads.

“Hawke,” Fenris warned.

Hawke kept his palm open, waiting.

Fenris unbuckled a sheathed dagger from his belt. 

Sebastian took Jades to her room. He laid her on his bed, set back into an alcove across from a single pane window. It was beginning to snow over the courtyard.

He tried to make her comfortable, placing her hands one over the other on her stomach and brushing her hair away from her face. The sunburst on her forehead was red and irritated, fresh.

“You poor girl,” he said as he stood back. She didn’t look peaceful. She was eerily still, her muscles taut though she was unconscious.

“Sebastian.”

The prince found Hawke’s dark eyes in the shadow of the doorway. He clenched his fist to stop it from shaking. He took a single step inside before hesitating.

“I’ll give you a moment,” Sebastian said. He closed the door behind him and took up a post in the hall.

Hawke watched his feet as they took him to Saria’s bedside. In his peripheral vision he could see the muted colours of the bed linens. His fingers brushed the patchwork.

How long did he stand there, I wonder. A single breath before forcing himself to look at her? Until his legs began to ache and a slight shift stole the choice from him?

With trembling hands, Hawke reached out for one of hers. No tendrils snuck to meet them. He hovered there and hoped. Incredulous that her spirit didn’t rise to meet his he turned to her for an answer.

He choked on her name then. He hadn’t believed it. But there was the mark branded on her skin. He reached for her face but couldn’t bring himself to touch her.

Hawke sank to his knees. A moan stuttered out of him, pieces of his soul shaking lose. The pain was consuming, emptiness swallowing from within him as he touched his brow to the bed. He pushed until his eyes ached and he saw red.

“You were strong,” he sobbed when hiding felt like weakness. “You were better than them, you could’ve — why?”

Hawke took Saria’s still hand. “Why didn’t you fight harder?”

He stood and gripped both of her shoulders. He shook her, “Why didn’t you fight harder?!”

Saria’s eyes popped open and he froze.


	9. Chapter 9

“Messere Hawke,” she blinked deliberately, like she was aware of the action and chose to do it. 

Hawke let go of her instantly. They were her eyes, but they weren’t her eyes. It was her voice, but it wasn’t her voice. He took a step back, horrified.

Saria pushed her wrists behind her and sat up.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I ended up here.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked up at him, “Do you?”

When Hawke didn’t answer Saria stood and flattened her skirts. With a small sigh she found his amber eyes.

Hawke held her gaze as steady as he could. He hoped for some recognition on either side — a glint, a flash, a whisper. She just stared right through him. He thought maybe she was warring somewhere behind that faded green, reaching out to him. He imagined she was screaming. She pounded her fists on invisible walls, scraped her nails against brick all around her.

Saria looked away and his breath rushed out of him, leaving nothing in its wake. He stared at a point over her shoulder. He was too aware of the blade on his belt. It pulsed like a beacon, red hot and too heavy for any man to lift.

She stepped towards him and hesitated, something in her hands. It was enough to interrupt him. She was fiddling with a grey handkerchief.

As she raised it, all he could do was look back into her eyes. He stood stalk still, petrified. A tear abandoned him, thought to take its chances with the fall.

Saria patted his cheek dry. He felt the warmth of her fingertips behind the cotton. “I did fight,” she said quietly.

Hawke closed his eyes, “You did?”

“It seems pointless now,” her touch retreated. “I must have felt strongly about it then, but I don’t feel anything now.”

Hawke nodded numbly. He needed to know. He had to face this. He opened his eyes, fixing them at that same point over her shoulder as if it could brace him.

“Did they —” he took a deep breath. “Did they hurt you?”

“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

Hawke squinted at her, “I want to know.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I lashed out in the gallows. They responded by smiting me again,” she said each sentence like a statement, without emotion. “There was nothing left to drain from me. It had little effect. So I attacked again.”

She stepped around him to the window.

“When I attacked again they beat me until I could no longer stand. One man was particularly cruel. He said he knew you. He wanted to make an example of me. It’s possible they all did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If it’s any solace to you, I felt nothing after they gave me the Rite,” she said ever calm. “They carried me to the Harrowing Chamber almost immediately after my display in the gallows. It was sensible. My behavior was — I’d describe it as feral, crazed.”

“Stop,” Hawke whispered.

“Knight Commander Meredith gave me the Rite herself. They knelt me at her feet,” she paused. “I was crying.”

“Please,” Hawke begged under his breath. He saw it all in his mind’s eye.

“I said a prayer for my brother while she prepared. I think I was trying to distract myself. When the time came, I called out for you.”

Hawke’s knees felt weak.

“You didn’t come.”

Hawke’s chest constricted, a gasp escaping him.

“I was convinced you would.”

Hawke’s breaths came in short rasps. He thought of her staring down Meredith, breaking in her final moments.

“It was illogical to think you would come.”

“No,” he said forcefully. He turned to face her. “It wasn’t.”

Saria shook her head. The light through the window made her hair glint with the motion.

“I should’ve been there,” he told her, reaching out to release a stray strand caught in her collar, under her chin. A tear plummeted to the base of his thumb. His eyes darted to hers.

Saria reached up and touched her cheek. She looked at her pointer finger, confused.

She blinked a little less deliberately. “I was told the transition might have side effects. That it might take a few days to fully —” she met his eyes and her mouth fell open slightly.

Hawke darted forward, pressing his lips to hers.

When she didn’t respond, he pushed her back against the wall and pressed his body against hers. He gripped fists of her hair and tilted her head to slant his mouth against hers. He paused for her reaction, like holding an aiming bow. When she exhaled he kissed her harder, praying.

The kiss was salty, tears mingling between them. He thought the corners of her mouth turned up and she kissed him back. It was gentle and soft and barely there, but he held onto it. He begged for another sigh, another breath, any indication she was still his.

“My bird of prey.”

Hawke pulled back to breathe. He pulled his hands from her hair to cup either side of her face. “Don’t go,” he begged.

He didn’t know what he meant. But there was blue light casting watery shadows across her cheeks, reflections from blue tendrils.

“I’m so sorry,” he kissed her forehead, just above her brand. “Please.”

She flinched then. A small gasp slipped from her lips and brushed against his skin. She pulled him back. Another kiss, fleeting.

Saria touched the corner of his jaw with shaky fingers, “I know.”

Hawke hadn’t noticed her take the blade from his belt, but he felt the hard wood of its handle prod his stomach. He drew Saria back sharply.

“No,” he said. Her grip weakened, failing on the dagger’s hilt. She became heavy in his arms. “No, no, no —”

A sob escaped her, trembling fingers curling against his chest. Hawke sank to the floor with her.

“Shhh,” he whispered. He kissed her crown. “It’s alright.”

He cradled her head over his shoulder, fighting the urge to heal her. He stilled his clutching hands around her back and closed his eyes, “It’s alright.”

“I remember,” she whispered. And then she was still.

“Forgive me,” he said. Over and over, he said, “I love you.”

When the sun had sunk past the horizon, I went up because no one else would. Hawke opened the door before I could knock. There was blood on his chest. He looked like hell, swaying with every breath.

Past his arm I could see Jades on the bed. Her hands almost covered the stains across the waist of her robes. The dagger was back in its sheath on Hawke’s belt.

“I didn’t tell her,” he told me.

“She knew.”

He nodded and stepped past me. He was near the stairwell when I called out to him. The call hung in the air, I didn’t know what to say.

“She’ll have a Fereldan funeral,” he said without turning. “Like my family.”

“Hawke, a public funeral. Meredith might —”

Hawke stumbled, caught himself with a palm atop the banister.

“Hawke, I,” I sighed. “I’ll get it done.”

He thanked me before he disappeared down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3  
> A little head cannon: 
> 
> Saria "Jades" is Grey Warden Duncan's lost sister. Here's some background based on lore from the game: 
> 
> Duncan and Saria's mother, Tayana, fled Ravani when it was occupied by the Qunari and settled in Highever. There she told fortunes to make a living. The Ferelden's ate it up, most of them more warrior than scholar. It's their she met the sibling's father.  
> The family travelled often for Father's work. A transient lifestyle at best, both pregnancies were a surprise. Duncan was 15 when Saria was born in 9:5.  
> Tayana took sick not long after that. The family took up roots in Orlais, hoping her health would improve, but it didn't.  
> The sibling's Father struggled to find work, giving up his trade to stay put. Tayana died, he later of a broken heart.  
> Duncan became nimble fingered after that, raising Saria as best he could. He was caught, saved by the Wardens. His commander had a connection at the local Chantry. Saria was given to a kind sister there — the best the comandrer could do at the time.  
> Duncan rose fast through the ranks of the Wardens. According to the lore, "his fellow Wardens despised him, and in the months that followed, an unhappy Duncan attempted to run away several times, and continued to steal when the opportunity arose, a habit that saved his life in the Kinloch Hold some months later."  
> Though she couldn't have known, that kind Chantry sister whispered stories of her brother, the great Grey Warden, to Saria often enough he became her hero.  
> The inevitable happens. Saria ends up at White Spire after reanimating a dog she loved in the orphanage the Chantry sister volunteers at.  
> When word reaches her that Duncan has become a warden commander, years after it's happened, she set after him — hoping to find family and glory at his side.  
> Saria tracks him for 10 years, through Seheron and everywhere else. They meet once, but Duncan fears her becoming a Grey Warden, and he sets off without telling her. He sends letters sometimes, but he's never stopped long enough to receive any back.  
> When whispers of the Blight begin in Ferelden, Saria heads there to find Duncan. She thinks if he's recruiting, he'll have no choice but to take her help.  
> She's in Lothering during the Battle of Ostagar. She returns to the battle field when the horde moves on. She never finds his body. She hears rumours the Wardens never find it either. She chooses to believe he's still alive.  
> Saria tracks Allistair and the Warden to Orzammar. She overhears them speaking of how Wardens head into the Deep Roads when their nightmares start.  
> She spends three years in Orzammar. Sometimes she heads on expeditions into the Deep Roads, sometimes she waits for him there.  
> After that she hears rumours Ferelden refugees have ended up in Kirkwall. She isn't sure it's a lead, but it's better than staying underground any longer. 
> 
> :)


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